


I'll Carry You

by lbk_princen



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eye Trauma, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, It's not happy my dudes, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Platonic Romance, Psychological Trauma, Self-Hatred, Trauma, showering together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-07 19:46:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14678169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lbk_princen/pseuds/lbk_princen
Summary: She's there for him when he feels like he doen't deserve to be alive.He's there for her when her world is reduced to scents and sounds.She wants to carry him as far as she can- but what if their time is cut short?





	1. > Sollux: fall apart.

**Author's Note:**

> I love pale Solrezi and I've been sitting on this for a while. The first two chapters are from a long time ago; I edited them but they're probably still not great. Dunno where this will go, but. Hope you enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Aradia's death.

Your name is Sollux Captor, and it’s been one week since you killed your matesprit.

 

You have sequestered yourself away in your hive, drowning in your guilt. You haven’t logged onto Trollian since it happened. You aren’t able to bear the sight of her handle, now permanently in the faded offline grey. You’ve spent your time alternating between curled up on the floor - sometimes crying, sometimes staring blankly at the underside of your desk - and throwing psychic tantrums that disrupt your poor bees and break things and often lead to you scratching at your own arms or hitting your head against the wall of your block.

 

Every time you try to eat, you remember coming out of your honey-induced psychosis and seeing her charred body under the rubble of her hive, and you feel like throwing up.

 

The sound of banging on your hive’s entrance startles you, but you feel too miserable and weak to do anything about it. With any luck it’ll be burglars, and they’ll break in and kill you. It’s what you deserve.

 

There’s some jiggling of the door, the sound of your lock mechanism ceding to its assailant, and Terezi Pyrope bursts into your hive. You’re too depressed to be surprised.

 

She sees you, and seems relieved. “You’re still breathing. Good.”

 

You close your eyes and mutter, “What are you doing here?”

 

She picks her way across the block to stand by your head. You know without even looking that she has her hands on her hips. “Do you really think you can cease all correspondence for a whole week and _not_ expect me to march my ass over here and demand an answer?”

 

Instead of replying, you push your lips together to try and keep them from trembling.

 

She sighs, softly, probably without meaning to. “I know what happened to Aradia. I thought maybe you… I was worried about you.”

 

Hearing her name makes all those feelings you’ve been trying to forget burst out of your chest all over again. You’re crying, translucent yellow tears spilling down your face as choking sobs shudder through your thorax. Terezi is touching you now, pulling you forcefully into an upright sitting position and cupping one cool hand around the back of your neck.

 

You crumple against her, arms tight around her waist and face in her bony shoulder. It’s not comfortable. She’s not soft, not like- like Aradia was, with her gentle curves and padded belly, her chubby face that dimpled when she smiled.

 

“It’s not your fault,” Terezi murmurs, and her face is in your hair; you can feel her breath on your horns. You squeeze her tightly, doing everything you can to just _hang on._

 

You want to protest, but your breathing is full of hiccups and your throat is clenching painfully so you say nothing. Your forehead is pressed into her collarbone and _ow_ it’s so sharp and bony but it helps to keep you grounded, keeps you from floating away into the grief that feels like it’s trying to swallow you whole.

 

She’s rubbing your back in a way that can’t be anything but conciliatory. You don’t know what you’ll do with yourself if Terezi ends up shooshing you.

 

Eventually the tears stop and you feel like you can breathe properly again. You don’t let go right away, though, breathing shallowly against the fabric of her shirt. Her hand stays on the back of your neck.

 

She waits for you to pull away first before she releases you. You wipe your eyes on the back of your hand and sniff obnoxiously.

 

“Okay now?” she asks, and her voice is all low and crackly, not like the loud and obnoxious voice you’re used to on video calls.

 

You nod, but you can’t meet her eyes. How was she able to calm you down so fast?

 

“Good.” She leans back on her butt, stretching her legs out on either side of you and cracking her toes before folding them back under her in a more comfortable position. You draw your knees up to your chest, feeling awkward and unsure of yourself. She says, “It was Vriska, you know.”

 

Your eyes snap to her face. Her expression is grim, and there’s barely concealed anger underneath.

 

“What?” you whisper, hoarse.

 

Terezi sighs unhappily. “Vriska used you to get back at Aradia for getting back at her for Tavros. It was unfair of her to involve you in her revenge, and I firmly maintain that no one should have had to die.”

 

Your throat constricts again, and you end up pressing the palms of your hands against your closed eyelids. The migraine you’ve had for three days presses back.

 

“When’s the last time you ate?” she asks.

 

“I dunno,” you reply.

 

“Do you have food?”

 

“...I dunno.”

 

She laughs sharply. “You are one hot mess, mister Captor.”

 

“Thanks,” you manage to mutter.

 

You pull your hands away from her face when you hear her stand up. She dusts herself off and looks at you expectantly. “Let’s go check, shall we?”

 

Your chest constricts strangely. Why is she doing this for you?

 

She prods you into eating, then pesters you into showering. Once you get in the ablution chamber, you end up crouched on the floor with the water pittering against your back. You almost can’t believe she even came. Why would she?

 

You rest your chin between two slippery knees and let the hot water rinse away your thoughts. It’s good that she’s here. Right? Your bloodpusher does something funny.

 

Once you exit the ablutionblock and slip on fresh clothing, you find her sitting at your table on her portable computer. She looks up and smiles at you when you enter. You can’t make yourself smile back but you appreciate it. “Feeling better?” she asks.

 

“A little,” you admit.

 

She grins. “Excellent! I’m just informing our mutual friends that you are not, in fact, dead. Karkat has asked me to perform violent acts upon your person for making him worry.”

 

You lower your head, half in shame and half in resentment. How dare they worry about you when _you_ don’t even worry about you. “Aw, he cares,” you say flatly.

 

Terezi seems to sense your discomfort, because her mouth twists into a weird shape. She looks at her screen, types a few more things, then closes her husktop and motions you over. Reluctantly, you join her at the table.

 

She stretches her hands across the surface, out towards you. You blink at her and blush creeps into your cheeks. She rolls her eyes and twitches her fingers in a gesture that says, _‘yes, idiot, give me your hand.’_ You put a hand on the table beside hers and she immediately uses both to grasp yours tightly.

 

“Repeat after me,” she says, her voice stern and serious as a legislacerator in a courtblock. “I am going to be okay.”

 

You swallow the lump in your throat. You can’t look at her eyes, so you focus on her ears, instead. Sharply pointed, twitching slightly in your direction, closed-over piercing holes in the lobes. Heh, cute.

 

She squeezes your hand. “Sollux.”

 

“I am going to be okay,” you whisper, but your voice catches.

 

She nods sharply. “Damn fucking right you are.”

 

You’re blushing so much right now. The two of you had- well, you’d been friends pretty much from the day you met, but your conversations were… she… it was different. Terezi and Karkat are your two best friends (you used to have three) but your relationships with them are different. You and Karkat can bullshit for hours, pages and pages of meaningless fun; with Terezi, you can say things without the fear of it being thrown back in your face. She always made a point to ask after you when you did things like cancel group movie streams, or go off the grid for days at a time. She actively _cares_ about you in a way that Karkat rarely displays.

 

Karkat isn’t here. She is.

 

She’s blushing too, you think. Maybe a little. Or maybe you’re imagining it. You use your other hand to grasp one of hers and put your head down on the table between your arms, forehead to wood. She makes a little amused sound, and this time, you do smile, even if it’s a small one that she can’t see.

 

“Is this,” you begin to say, but you stop yourself. Take a deep breath. Raise your head. You won’t be a coward about this. “So then, are we, like… together, now?” Your lungs feel too shallow and your head hurts.

 

She cocks her head. Your hands are still intertwined with hers on the table. “Do you want us to be?”

 

You look down, searching for a response. “I- yes. I mean… I do, yeah, but I’m-” you break off your sentence in a voice crack. You let go of her hands to give the sides of your head a couple solid smacks.

 

Terezi immediately stands up, and you flinch away from the noise of her chair scraping against the ground. “The witness will restrain himself from such behaviours,” she says loudly. She actually looks a little pissed, oh hell, you fucked up, she’s mad at you, oh no-

 

She softens at your expression.

 

“I’m sorry,” you choke out.

 

She walks around the table to give you a hug. You hug her back, still a little shaken by her outburst. “I’m sorry, too,” she murmurs by your ear. “I just don’t like to see you hurt yourself like that.” You bury your face into her shoulder again out of embarrassment, not caring about how her bones dig in against your cheek uncomfortably.

 

“Sorry.”

 

She just hums in reply.

 

“I really would, I mean, if you’d have me- I, I’d like to be moirails,” you stammer quietly.

 

She pulls back from the hug and grins with those bear-trap teeth of hers. “Good,” she rasps. “My first declaration as your newly appointed diamond is as follows: we need to clean the shit out of your hive.”

 

You snort. “Heh. Good call. Hey,” you catch her wrist as she turns to look for cleaning supplies. She looks back at you, her eyebrows quirked and her expression open. You force yourself to open your mouth again despite the sudden flutter of nervousness in your stomach. “Thank you.”

 

She smiles again, and her ears twitch forwards slightly. “Of course. Anytime.”


	2. > Terezi: call for help.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Vriska's revenge.

Your name is Terezi Pyrope and it has been five hours since your best friend blinded you. 

 

You managed to stumble back to your tree (you knew you had found it when you had bumped your still-tender face into a scalemate and screamed) fueled by pain and adrenaline. You had blindly operated your pulley system to get back into your hive. You’ve done everything blindly for the past five hours! You can’t bring yourself to giggle. It hurts too much. 

 

Your trollian notification grabs your attention and you feel your way over to your computer, sinking blissfully into your chair. You have no idea who has messaged you, and you don’t care. You are focused on one thing only. You type by muscle memory alone.

 

\-- twinArmageddon [TA] began trolling gallowsCalibrator [GC] --

TA: hey TZ ii know you’re probably 2tiill a2leep but ii fiinally fiinii2hed that biit of code to help wiith your flarp clouder B2. 

TA: iif you need help iin2talliing iit ju2t let me know.

GC: H3Y I DONT KNOW EHO TH1D 1D BUT C5N YOU PL34S4 M3SS4FE SOLLUX 4ND TRLL H1M 1 N33D H1M

TA: what? 

TA: TZ what’2 goiing on? thii2 ii2 2ollux.

GC: 1M SORRU I CC4N H34T TH3 D2NG BUT 1 C5NT R34D WH4T YOUR3 S4Y1NG PL34S3 1 N33D SOLLUX I N22D MY MO1R41L

TA: ok. ok. ii’m comiing.

GC: PL34S4

\-- twinArmageddon [TA] is idle --

 

You are curled inwards on yourself in your computer chair, trying to not to hyperventilate from the searing pain in your eyes when you hear someone land clumsily on the deck of your treehive. You feel an overwhelming sense of relief when you hear his voice call out your name.

 

“Terezi? What happened? I’m here!”

 

“Inside!” you yell, and your voice cracks horrifically. You hear him come in the door (you left it open you think maybe that’s why he’s running and breathing so hard, so scared) and his footsteps stop when you turn your chair around.

 

“Oh God, Terezi, your eyes” he chokes.

 

You force a smile but the pain twists it into a grimace. “No need to be dramatic,” you joke. “It’s not- ow, shit, fuck… i-it’s not that bad.” It hurts to move, to talk; your whole face is probably one big blistering burn.

 

He’s beside you in a second and you can smell the residual electricity on his skin from his psionic flight over. He touches your chin lightly (like he’s afraid to hurt you) and gently moves your head to examine your burns. Your claws dig into the armrest of your chair, puncturing the padding- it hurts, and you hate that you can’t see his face. You feel dizzy. 

 

As soon as he lets go you lean your head back against the chair. Now that you’re not desperate to get out of the open, now that Sollux is here and you feel safe, the adrenaline is fading and the pain is getting worse.

 

“TZ?” he says, and his hand is on your shoulder. You bat it away weakly. 

 

“Calm down, I’m not dying. Ngh. It hurts.” Your voice is straining and wobbling and your chest heaves and rattles and you want to scream but you clamp it down.

 

“You should lie down. Come on, I’ll help you to the loungeplank. Then, uh- fuck. Fuck.” He says something else but his voices buzzes and fades from your ears. 

 

You think you must have passed out because the next thing you’re aware of is something cold and wet gently dabbing at the area around your eyes, cooling your burned skin. Your head is propped up on something warm- the texture feels like denim when you shift your head slightly. It’s Sollux’s lap, you realize, when he makes a quiet noise from above you. It wasn’t quite a shoosh. You almost don’t hear it through the pulsing, hot pain in and around your eyes.

 

His hands are on your face, warm-blooded and rough from improper skincare. His fingers trace lightly down your cheeks, across your nose, your chin, drawing your attention away from the pain. Your body wracks with a sob.

 

Your eyes are gone. You’ll never see again. It’s… it doesn’t feel as much like as a loss as it probably ought. It still really freaking hurts, though. Tears well up and the salt in them stings your burned skin but Sollux is shooshing you proper now, delicate touches still gliding over the undamaged parts of your face.

 

“Shh, shh, it’ll be okay,” he’s murmuring. “I know it hurts but I’m here. You’re gonna live. You’re tougher than that. Shh.”

 

You laugh wetly at that, and grope one hand up towards where his voice was coming from, wanting to touch him back. Your fingers come in contact with lips first, but you feel your way over until you’re cupping his cheek in your hand. 

 

“Don’t pap me while I’m papping you,” he says, and you can feel his wry little twist of a grin under your hand. “I already feel like I don’t carry my weight in this relationship.”

 

You thumb the corner of his lip and feel a smooth fang there. “The point is we carry each other,” you croak. 

 

He snorts and turns his head slightly to press a small kiss to the pad of your thumb. “That’s disgustingly romantic,” he says. You laugh, but it quickly turns into a cry of pain. He goes back to cleaning your burns, so you let your arm flop back down across your stomach and bite back a grunt.

 

The next week is hell, but Sollux stays with you, so it’s survivable. At one point he leaves because he needs to feed his lusus. That’s when you dream of your own lusus, and she whispers dragon-secrets to you, and you wake up with a tingle in your nose that makes you sneeze. Sollux comes back the next night. You smell the tart electricity of his psionics before you hear him land. 

 

He adjusts the settings of all your devices to be voice-operated and to read things aloud to you. You spend an hour goofing around with the automated voice together, making it say silly things and finding the best string of words to serve as a backbeat to terrible, half-assed raps. You enjoy yourself.

 

During the day, he sleeps on your loungeplank. You offered to alternate the use of the recuperacoon (you both casually avoid suggesting that you share- your moirallegiance is too fresh for THAT level of intimacy) but he insisted that it was your hive, he was the interloper, he could tough it out on the reclining platform.

 

You wake up to the salty-sour smell of  _ yellow. _

 

You have no idea what time it is, but you crawl out of the slime and brusquely towel yourself down. You feel around for- aha, there it is. Your Redglare FLARPing staff, which now also conveniently serves as your walking stick. The tip of it glides along the floor until it hits wall; you guide it along the wall until you can push it forward again and you’re through the door. Not so hard. You can get used to this. 

 

It’s still daylight, if the itchy heat on one side is an indicator. (You imagine the light shining through the window, but all you smell is fabric and chalk and Sollux.)

 

You hear a sniff. “Oh. I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

 

Slowly, you maneuver to the loungeplank. “Nightmare?”

 

He doesn’t reply, because you already know the answer. He takes your free hand and guides you down to sit next to him. You clumsily wipe his tears as best you can. 

 

“If you need to use my ‘coon, do it,” you say.

 

“I’m fine.” 

 

You wish you could see his expression. A frown forms on your own face. “The prosecution can  _ smell _ the dishonesty in the accused’s statement. For shame, mister appleberry blast.”

 

He goes  _ pbth _ and pushes your shoulder, hard enough to make you sway but not enough to count as less than playful. You grin and smack his shins with your cane, making him yelp.

 

“The fuck?! That’s not very pale of you, TZ.” You can  _ hear _ the pout in his voice, dear lord.

 

You laugh. “Oopsies! How about I kiss the booboo and squish your cheeks? Would that make it all better?”

 

He groans and his head thunks down on your shoulder. “You can be such an ass sometimes,” he mutters into your shirt.

 

“Sustained,” you say with a chuckle.

 

His arms snake around your waist. You let your cane clatter to the ground in favor of returning the embrace. One of your hand finds its way to his hair, totally and completely by accident. Also completely and totally by accident, you skritch the back of his head until he sighs.

 

“Mm, you smell like sopor,” he mumbles. “Makin’ me sleepy.”

 

“Then sleep, dumb-dumb,” you say. “I won’t move.”

 

“Mmmmpromise?”

 

“I swear on my lucky noose,” so say solemnly, and run your fingers through his hair in longer, more languid strokes. It’s short and prickly at the back. You like the way it feels.

 

Eventually you feel his breathing deepen- each exhale tickles your neck but you refrain from squirming. You know for sure he’s asleep when the snoring starts. A small smile puckers your lips.

 

You lean your head back against the couch and close your sore, useless eyes.

 

You totally don’t fall asleep.


	3. > Sollux: hear her out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two sweeps have gone by. Their moiraillegiance hasn't faltered. An eventual obstacle looms on the horizon, like say, an imperial spacecraft.

Your name is Sollux Captor, and you're currently six episodes into a marathon of the courtblock drama series "Claw and Order: stupid victims unit".   
  
You’re seated on the horizontal lounging  platform of one Terezi Pyrope, who is on the floor in front of you, sucking on the remnants of her fourth grubpop. She's in her underwear, which consists of a loose black tank top and bright red boxers. Her head is leaned back against the platform, and your knees are framing her skull in a way that would make any respectable troll flip the fuck out. But she's just chilling, so you resolve to chill as well.   
  
Terezi pulls the frozen treat from her mouth with an obnoxious slurping noise, then smacks her lips and says, "a bit early in the series to give up on the gore effects, wouldn't you say? I'm  _ blind _ and I can tell that's prop offal."   
  
You snort. "Yeah. At least dye some lusus guts or something. Anything is better than this. Looks like rubber or something."   
  
She nods solemnly in agreement. "Disgraceful, really."   
  
You reach out and run your hand through her stiff, choppy hair. She tips her head into your hand, encouraging the action. You wrinkle your nose as you comb through a few more times.    
  
"Yuck, TZ, do you ever bathe? Your hair is greasier than a streetmeat grill."   
  
She pokes you in the leg with one pointy horn. "What are you going to do, Mr. Appleberry, cull me for poor hygiene?"   
  
You push her horn away from your leg. Ow. That's going to bruise. "I think we both know I'd probably hang for presuming to cull someone as blue as you."   
  
She doesn't say anything to that.   
  
"Sorry. Too morbid?" You nudge her gently with one knee.   
  
She delicately sets the stick of her grubpop on the wrapper beside her, and you can hear her crunching the last of it. You don't expect her to turn and climb up on the platform and wrap her spindly arms around you, which is exactly what she does. You're too surprised to do anything but adjust your arm so that it's around her shoulders- albeit at an awkward angle.   
  
She finishes chewing and swallows. When she speaks, her voice is soft but otherwise clipped, almost professional. "The thought of you hanging is something that distresses me to entertain, even in a hypothetical context.” Her face is pressed into your shoulder, so one of her horns is dangerously close to your sniffer. Eventually she murmurs, "I would fight bluer trolls than I to keep you from the cull pit."   
  
Your bloodpusher does something stupid that you hate. Still, you find yourself smiling softly. You squeeze her shoulders. "The best damn legislacerator in the business could offer to represent me and I'd still choose you to be my lawyer."   
  
You feel her smile against your shirt.   
  
You stay like that for a few minutes, breathing softly and barely listening to the show. You find you can't pull your attention away from all the scars littered across her skin from years of FLARPing. Under the B.O of unwashed troll, she smells like fabric softener and chalk.   
  
"Seriously, you smell like absolute ass," you say tenderly. "Go wash yourself, stinky."   
  
She shifts a little, grumbles. Squeezes you tightly for a moment, then goes limp with a sigh. "Come with me?" she asks.   
  
The question hangs in the air, and your chest aches. Is she really so bad off that she needs you to help her?    
  
"You know how to use an ablution trap," you say, almost defensively.   
  
"Bluh." She rolls off you and slumps down on the loungeplank until her pointy chin touches her equally pointy clavicle. She makes no move to get up.   
  
Her nostrils twitch - you're sure she can tell that you’re staring. She picks at a scab on her elbow and you have to fight the urge to shoo her claws away from it. She looks miserable.   
  
You sigh. "Fine. Do you want me to carry you, your frigging highness?"   
  
She gives a half-hearted snicker. "That won't be necessary. I still have  _ some  _ dignity, thanks."   
  
She struggles to her feet and rubs her burnt-out eyes. You watch her. Eventually, she turns towards you and holds out her hand. There's a ghost of her usual smile on her lips. You let her haul you off the platform, and you don't let go as you walk to her ablutionblock. You don't bother turning off the television.

 

This is fine. It’s just Terezi. Lots of moirails shower together. You’re still nervous as fuck. You can’t help but wonder, what if you fuck this up somehow? What if you say something stupid or touch her weirdly and it ruins everything?

 

You shake your head at yourself. It’ll be fine. She wouldn’t have asked if she wasn’t okay with it.

 

Still, your bloodpusher jolts when she lets go of you, even though it was just so she can start the trap. You take a seat on the closed lid of the load gaper.

 

“I can smell your anxiety, Mr. Appleberry,” Terezi says. Her back is to you; she’s still fussing with the trap controls. “Do you require a pre-shower shoosh-pap?”

 

“Mngh,” you say. She laughs at you, and turns around. 

 

“I will take that as affirmation,” she teases, and she holds her hands out, palms up. It took a few times of her accidently smacking you or missing your face entirely before you decided it was better for everyone if you go to her.

 

You lean your face into her hands. Once her fingers make contact, she easily traverses the landscape of your skull, already familiar with your dips and grooves. Her touch makes your eyelids flutter shut. The cool pads of her palms chafe your skin, but the feeling grounds you, pulls you back into yourself. 

 

Her claws scrape gently on the skin behind your ear, too lightly to be a threat. You make an embarrassing noise, a soft, churring exhale. She giggles at you and you blush a little but you still feel calmed so whatever, it's fine.

 

“Better?” she asks.

 

“Yeah,” you sigh. 

 

“We don’t have to,” she says, her voice soft.

 

You bite your lip and look up at her face. Your moirail is all angles, even her eyebrows are almost triangular in shape. Everything about her is sharp, yet she touches you so kindly. You reach up and trace the puffy scarring around her eyes- reminders of the burns that you helped her care for when she first got them. Her bony shoulders shiver slightly.

 

“It’s okay,” you say. You find that your pusher has slowed, that you feel calmer. Your eyes scan over her, what needs cleaning. There’s a faint purple smear over her lips, and when you pass your thumb over it, you find that it’s sticky. Leftover grubpop.

 

She backs away and you find yourself smiling.

 

She pulls her tank top off and discards it onto a pile of clothes beside the gaper, several days’ worth. (You’ll help her do laundry later.) Her boxers go the same way, and there's Terezi, your moirail, naked and chewing her lip while she checks the water temperature.    
  
She's never looked so small to you before. Her chest is flat, her ass is flat, her shoulder blades look like they could cut through anything. She has so many scars. You wish you had been there to tend to each one. You wish you could bundle up this girl who's more knives than troll and keep her safe, keep her smiling, keep her happy.   
  
She doesn't look happy when she turns her head towards you. She just looks tired.

 

Obligingly, you strip as well and for a guilty moment, you’re glad that she’s blind. You hate your body. She’s better off not seeing it.

 

You both step into the trap and when the water hits your skin it’s a bit cool for your taste; almost immediately your skin prickles with gooseflesh and you shiver once or twice.

 

“Too cold?” Terezi asks, perceptive as always.

 

“Just a bit.”

 

She nods and adjusts the knob. “My bad. Is that better?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

The trap is a bit cramped. You’re trying not to bump her by accident. Silently, she leans to the side and fumbles around for a soap worm. When she finds it, she passes it to you and turns around.

 

Water cascades over the both of you, flattening your hair to your skull and getting in your eyes. You shuffle around until the water is hitting your sides more than anything, and dump a bunch of soap into one hand. It smells fruity, nothing like the cheap, scentless soap worms you’re forced to buy.

 

You work it into her hair deep and thorough; she hums appreciatively and leans back into your scrubbing.

 

“I notice you’ve been kinda down lately,” you say softly, just loud enough to be heard over the spray. Surrounded by steam and the pattering of water, the two of you are safe to discuss anything you want. You suppose it’s a cliche pale thing for a reason.

 

Her sigh is nigh imperceptible, you only catch it because you’re familiar with her body and how she moves. “I’m a little worried,” she admits.

 

“About?” you prompt. Your hands slide down to her shoulders, and you rub some of the lather there as well. Her muscles are taut from stress but you work them slow and firm in circular motions.

 

She leans back until her soapy head hits your chest. “Ascension day is steadily approaching for us,” she intones, quiet. “I’m afraid that they’re going to take you away from me and stuff you in a helmsblock for the rest of your sweeps.”

 

You squeeze her shoulders once, then just let them rest there, lightly. Both of you have known for the longest time that your fate as a helmsman is practically guaranteed. You’ve been resigned to it since you were a pupa. She’s never brought it up before, and neither have you. It’s an unspoken agreement you have, titled ‘Do Not Talk About How Sollux Is Doomed To Become Batteries’.

 

You want to reassure her, but there’s almost nothing you can say that isn’t highly unrealistic if not a bold-faced lie. You’re not an optimist and moirails shouldn’t lie to each other, so you say, “I’m scared of that, too.”

 

She closes her fingers around your wrists and tugs your arms down over her front so that you’re practically draped over her shoulders. You take that as encouragement to cross your arms around her chest and hold her against your body. It’s achingly intimate. The only reason you don’t drop a kiss to her head is that her hair is still full of soap. 

 

“There is precedent,” she begins slowly, “for trolls being exempt from their conscripted duties in order to accompany their higher-blooded moirail in their placement.”

 

She pauses but you just wait for her to continue.

 

“Such instances only occur when the nobler moirail has a history of violence previous to engaging in their moiraillegiance.”

 

Your brow furrows. “That wouldn’t work with us, you’re not  _ that _ dangerous. Not like EQ is.”

 

“I know,” she says softly. “But what if I was?”

 

“TZ…”

 

“What if, on Ascension Day, when they try to take away my moirail, I fall into a sudden murderous rage?”

 

You let go of her in order to turn her to face you. She’s under the spray now, her eyes and mouth closed to keep the soapy water out. Her head is bowed, and you can’t read her expression, but the way she holds herself is limp. Resigned.

 

“Terezi,” you whisper. You don’t know what else to say to her. She can’t... there are so many ways that plan could go wrong. 

 

She doesn’t say anything or even move. She looks like a sodden, underfed meowbeast. 

 

“You object to the pointless slaughter of innocents,” you remind her.

 

She turns her head to the side, wipes water away from her mouth in order to speak. “It’s not pointless if it would save you.”

 

You cup her face in your hands and push your frontpan to hers. “It’s not who you are, Terezi. Doing that would hurt you in a way that I can’t fix.”

 

Her lip wobbles. She knows you're right.

  
Terezi clings to you and cries while you comb your fingers through her wet hair. You hum for her, and it resonates off the shower walls, enveloping both of you in the sound of  _ safe, shhh, you're safe. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dunno if i'll write more


End file.
